


I've Got a Collar Full of Chemistry from Your Company

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Series: Will and Frederick's Post-Hannibal Homestead [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Chilton being a snarky asshole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW, One of Will's dogs is sick, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has to cancel the monthly meeting of their Hannibal Lecter support group. Chilton misses the cancellation call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got a Collar Full of Chemistry from Your Company

They call it the "I Got Fucked Over By Hannibal Lecter" Club, and they meet once a month, every third Saturday, at Will's house in Wolf Trap. The membership consists of Will himself, Alana, Jack, Jimmy, Brian, and more recently, Frederick. They each bring a dish of crappy comfort food, watch terrible movies, and generally talk shit about the one giant d-bag that they all share an intimate knowledge of. It's a good way to let off some steam; most people can't relate to almost being murdered and eaten by a sociopathic cannibal, so when the IGFOBHL Club (they've got to come up with a better anagram) meets, ninety percent of the conversations start like: "But do you remember when he pulled this shit?" Or: "How sick was it that he was feeding us _people_?" (Brian and Jimmy high five each other every time that's brought up; they're the only ones who were blessed to miss out on _that_ particular horror).

 

Will looks forward to the meetings, despite his usual distaste for parties or people tramping about his property. Since Hannibal's incarceration, he's tried to keep to himself, and club meetings are really the only time he interacts with other people, outside of teaching his classes and spending a few minutes talking to students in clipped, avoiding tones so that they'll leave him alone. And these people are pretty good people, even if he kind of wound up in prison for six months because they couldn't figure out that the damn guy whose _name rhymes with cannibal_ was eating people.

 

Frederick was a late addition. There was one quick phone call by Alana and a short message describing the meeting, and Frederick showed up at Will's front door the next Saturday, holding a casserole dish of bean dip and mumbling something about gratitude for the invitation. The rest of the group seemed a bit wary of his presence, probably with good reason, but as soon as they hit on the subject of "Hannibal, what a douche," Frederick was all ears and even chimed in with his own stories and tales of Lecter's manipulation and deceit. Will got a very warm smile and handshake from Frederick on the way out, and he seemed miles brighter than he had when he came in.

 

Will doesn't know what prompted him to reach out to Dr. Chilton. He hasn't forgotten the hostile, horrid environment of Baltimore State Hospital, how Chilton ran the place like it was a playground for his own selfish experimental desires. But something's different about the man since he was framed by Hannibal and almost killed by Miriam Lass (she, by the way, refuses to join their club, and Will can kind of understand why; she probably got the worst of it from Hannibal out of all of them). Chilton's forced suaveness and charm, so transparent before, has been replaced by a quiet, moderate thoughtfulness, and even some genuine content of character. He still puffs up his chest a bit at times, trying to be the smartest man in the room, but Will and Brian already have their own not-so-subtle competition going on for that title, and Chilton is quite lacking as a challenger.

 

After a few meetings, Frederick started to be the one to clear away the casserole dishes as they emptied out. He started memorizing the layout of Will's kitchen and was the one to bring somebody a glass or a napkin if they needed it, coiled like a spring as he sat on one of Will's cushy chairs, ready to jump up at a moment's notice if anybody said they needed something. Will didn't understand why, until he realized that this was Frederick's way of apologizing, of suffocating that big ego of his for a moment to engage in an instance of subservience. Honestly, Will finds it a bit sad, but then again, he's not the best at communicating his own emotions either, so he tries to let himself forgive Chilton a little bit more every time Frederick offers to refill his drink or take his plate to the sink.

 

They keep this going for about six months, but then one Saturday, Marshmallow gets sick, and Will's entire world narrows down to focus on the mutt curled up in his lap, wheezing heavily and trying her damnedest to breathe.

 

He sends cancellation calls to everyone, asking if they're free to meet the next Saturday. So he's surprised when he sees a familiar black Lexus pull up into his driveway, and Frederick stepping out with his usual casserole dish tucked under his arm.

 

"What happened?" he asks when he sees Will alone on the porch, his face instantly taking on a pout. "Where is everyone?"

 

"I left you a voice mail," Will says. "I had to cancel; Marshmallow isn't doing well and I might have to take her to the vet."

 

Chilton checks his phone and curses. "I have the longest drive of anyone, I must've gotten it in the car. You know I don't pick up my phone when I'm driving."

 

"I _don't_ know that," Will grumbles, annoyed by the way Chilton looks put out.

 

"Well... I don't." Frederick sighs and, in a surprising twist, plops himself down on the porch next to Will. "I'm here now anyway. What's wrong with Marshmallow?"

 

That's the funny thing - Will's dogs have taken to Frederick like a duck to water. He explained once, something about growing up on a farm and being really comfortable around animals, but even so, one of Will's dogs usually ends up in Frederick's lap by the end of the night - usually Chico, who's small enough to not cause any undue strain on Frederick's old injuries. Marshmallow sometimes likes to jump up and try to lick Frederick's face, and Frederick's very much embarrassed by anyone drawing attention to the long, puckered scar that marks the place where Miriam's bullet hit him, so Will usually has to shoo her away from the man once a night.

 

"She's breathing hard," Will says. "She hasn't been able to walk well since this morning, and she hasn't had any bowel movements. I think she might have a blockage, but I don't want to give her any medication in case I've guessed wrong."

 

"Is your vet available on a Saturday night?" Frederick asks.

 

Will nods. "I've already called her. She operates out of a farm a few miles down the road. She said I can bring Marshmallow by any time tonight."

 

"I could... drive you," Frederick says, twisting his hands together and purposefully not looking at Will. "In your own car, obviously, mine is much too nice to get dog hair on the seats. But if you want to stay in the back seat with her while I drive, I wouldn't mind."

 

"That would be great, actually," Will says, standing up and offering Frederick a hand, knowing he's still got trouble with his limp. Frederick grasps his hand and stands, wobbling a bit but getting his balance. "Let's put that dish in the fridge and then get going. I'll call Cecelia and tell her we're coming."

 

Frederick handles Will's car pretty well, going slowly over the dirt road to avoid any big holes that will agitate Marshmallow's pain. Will sits in the back, with the dog's head in his lap, listening to her whimper and rubbing her head to try and comfort her. She's got her eyes open, but her vision is glazed over, and she doesn't seem to be looking at anything. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of Will's stomach, and he calculates her general age range - she must be ten or twelve by now, the oldest of his pack. He bends down and presses a kiss to her forehead, humming softly to try and soothe her. When he looks back up, Frederick is looking at him through the rear-view mirror. He quickly averts his gaze, and they say nothing through the drive.

 

When they get to the property, a plump blond woman wearing overalls is standing in front of a little white house, waving them forwards. "This could take a while. You don't have to stay if you don't want to," Will says as he gets out of the car. "Cecelia can drive me back."

 

"No, I'll stay," Frederick says, parking the car and getting out to lean up against the side of it. "It's either this or go home and study for my re-certification exam, and believe me, this is much more enjoyable." It's a morbid joke, but Will gives him a half-hearted smile, understanding the effort.

 

Frederick waits outside while Will takes Marshmallow inside and gets the news he expected but hoped not to hear. There's a few minutes of him trying to hold in the shakes and the tears, and then he asks Cecelia to wait a moment, while he goes back out to Frederick, who sets him with a curious, almost worried look when he steps out onto the porch.

 

"She has to be put down," Will says, wrapping himself in a tight hold, pretending that the reason he's shivering is because of the cold. "Her kidneys are failing and there's nothing to be done about it."

 

"Oh," Frederick looks like he has no idea what to say to that. "Are you going to be with her when she passes?"

 

Will nods, and then blurts out: "Do you wanna say goodbye?" He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know why he thinks Chilton would care that much, but he watches Frederick nod his head and move from the car to Will's side. And then Frederick puts an actual  _hand_  on Will's shoulder and tries for some sort of comforting squeeze.

 

"Let's go," Frederick says.

 

Will keeps his forehead pressed against Marshmallow's in the exam room, humming softly to her the whole time. Frederick has a hand on her back, running it up and down in a soothing motion. Cecelia injects the drug, and for a moment, the dog's tail beats a happy rhythm on the exam table, finally free of pain. But then slowly she fades, and Will feels her last breath brush the palm of his hand. Then she's gone.

 

Cecelia promises to have her cremated and her ashes sent to him as soon as possible. Will has a willow tree on his property where he's buried near half a dozen dogs, and will probably bury another half-dozen over the rest of his years. Marshmallow will be happy there. Her older brother, Samson, is already resting there. It will be a nice reunion.

 

They get back into Frederick's car; Will takes the passenger seat this time. The drive back once again consists of silence. Will thinks if he opens his mouth, everything is going to come rushing out, and he'd really rather not have _another_ breakdown in front of _another_ manipulative psychiatrist for the next ten thousand years, thank you very much.

 

Frederick parks back at his house, and Will's got his hand on the door handle when he hears Frederick say: "Do you need company?"

 

Will frowns and gives him a very, _very_ suspicious, doubtful look. " _You_ want to keep _me_ company? For what end?"

 

Chilton actually looks insulted by that. "For the end that you're in a lot of pain and sometimes it's nice to have someone around when you're hurting. Not everything I do is for a research paper, _Mr. Graham._ " He throws open the door, moving to get out.

 

"Frederick, wait." This stops the other man, although he doesn't look at Will. "I would enjoy some company right now, very much. But can you really blame me for being suspicious? What happened the last time you offered to listen to my problems?"

 

Frederick's shoulders are vibrating with tension, but then they droop, and all of the energy goes out of them. "I suppose I can see your point," he says. "But I promise this has no ulterior motives. I am just trying to be a... a friend."

 

Friend. Well, that's not a word Will thought would be coming out of Chilton's mouth in relation to him. At least, not in any sort of genuine way. "Come on inside then," Will says. "We still have your casserole and my Netflix queue to work with."

 

When they enter the house, the rest of the dogs instantly know something is up; one of their pack is missing. "I'm sorry you guys," Will murmurs, kneeling down and running soothing hands down their backs. "She's not coming back." The whimpers and confused faces threated to tear him in two, so he stands up and goes to find Frederick.

 

The other man is in the kitchen, turning on his oven and sliding the casserole dish inside. "You should really get this thing cleaned out," he says as Will enters. "It looks like it hasn't been scrubbed in years."

 

"Probably a decade," Will says, leaning against the door frame. "I find it a little weird that you know my kitchen well enough to be making comments on how to manage the upkeep."

 

"It's a funny habit I've picked up," Frederick says, cursing as he catches the tip of his finger on the edge of the oven door. He quickly moves to run it under cool water. "I'm a bit of a cataloguer, really have a hand on the little details - of places, not people, obviously, or I would've done a better job on figuring out Lecter sooner. Maybe would've saved myself a trip to the hospital," he says, rubbing at the scar on his cheek.

 

"We all fucked up on that one," Will says, shrugging and thrusting his hands into his pockets.

 

"Not you," Frederick says, managing to meet his gaze, only to quickly lose it as Will looks away. "You figured everything out before any of us had an inkling of what was going on."

 

"I get inside their heads, remember?" Will says, tapping a finger on his forehead. "Normal people need things like evidence and precedence before they'll convict someone."

 

"Ah yes, evidence. Pesky thing, that evidence. There was so much of it to convict both of us, and yet here we are, free as birds, while the real killer rots in prison."

 

"That's because it was the wrong evidence," Will says. "The real evidence was overlooked."

 

"As so often it is," Frederick says, brushing past him into the living room. Will frowns, there was something under those words, and he can't quite parse them for their real meaning. But then Frederick is on his couch and asking him to put in the password for his Netflix account, so Will ignores the niggling feeling in the back of his mind and joins him.

 

They watch something mindless, which turns out to be a terrible idea. If they were watching something cerebral, Will could concentrate all of his focus on the TV. Instead he's staring at that spot on the floor by his feet, that bare patch of wood where there is no dog lying, a space just large enough to fit Marshmallow's frame. Will can feel wetness threatening to push its way out from beneath his eyelids, and a knotted hollowness is growing in the pit of his stomach.

 

"Excuse me," he finally says, standing up and taking stuttering, shaky steps down the hall and into his guest bedroom. He drops onto the side of the mattress, resting his face in his hands and breathing through the spread of his fingers, sucking in shuddering breaths. The dogs know not to come in to the guest room, it's the one place in the house they're not allowed, but they stand by the door and whimper, scratching at the wood. Will chokes as the first few tears splash over the tips of his fingers, cursing and trying to keep quiet as a sob wracks his body.

 

And then the second worst thing of the night happens. There's a knock on the door.

 

Will doesn't know what to do. If he says something, Frederick will know he's crying, and that's an embarrassment Will doesn't want to deal with right now. If he doesn't say anything, Frederick may come in, and oh, that would be even worse.

 

"One sec," he finally tries, failing to hide the way his breathing skitters and the cracking of his voice. It's not very loud, but before Will can try again, the knob twists and Frederick's walking in, freezing when he sees Will sitting on the bed. "I said one sec!" Will shout-sobs.

 

"I thought you said come in!" Frederick says, and why hasn't he left the room yet?! "It sounded like come in."

 

"I don't f-fucking care what it sounded like," Will says. "Just leave me alone!" It's impossible to control the waterworks now, and he curls in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. He can't see anything, but he knows Frederick hasn't moved yet. And then he hears Frederick getting _closer_ , not farther away. "F-Frederick, please go."

 

But the other man isn't listening, and suddenly Will feels two hands gripping his arms, easing him out of the fetal position, and Will barely resists, doesn't have the energy to right now. Frederick is sliding forward, and his arms wrap around Will's back, and Will is pulled flush against Frederick, his face pressed into the crook of Frederick's neck.

 

 _What the fuck is this_ , Will thinks. "What the f-fuck is this," he repeats aloud.

 

"Most people call it a hug," Frederick says in that snappy, obnoxious sarcasm only he is capable of. "Human beings tend to use them for celebratory or comforting purposes."

 

"I'm not an alien species, you ass," Will says, sniffling and resisting the urge to smack Frederick upside the head. "I kn-know what a hug is. I want to know wh-why I'm getting one."

 

"Because you need one," Frederick says, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "And as a clinically trained psychologist, it is part of my professional capacity to provide emotional support to patients."

 

Will doesn't know why, but that's the funniest thing he's ever heard in his life. He cackles into Frederick's shoulder, shaking as his sobs turn into hysterical laughter. Frederick pulls back slightly, staring at him with a dumbfounded expression. "S-so a hug is now an official psychological t-treatment method?" Will asks, gasping for air as the tears that now leak from his eyes are ones of delight instead of despair.

 

Frederick pouts in a way that is, quite frankly, adorable. "I was trying to be as obtuse as you were being when asking me why one person might try to give another person a hug."

 

"Am I going to see hugs in the DSM-V now?" Will continues, giggling incessantly. "Am I going to be able to get a prescription for them filled at Rite Aid? I don't know if I trust the guy at my pharmacy to give me a full strength dose."

 

Frederick scowls. "Excuse me for trying to be a good person."

 

"So very unlike you," Will says, finally able to breathe again. Now Frederick looks really put out. "No, I'm kidding, well, kind of." He sighs deeply as the knot in his stomach recedes into nothing. "You just surprised me, is all. You're surprising me a lot tonight."

 

"Good surprises, I hope," Frederick says, catching his gaze and managing to meet it for more than a few seconds. Suddenly all the air's gone out of the room, and Will realizes that they're still clinging to each other, embraced in a manner that can hardly be called platonic now that the hug has been over for a solid two minutes.

 

"Frederick," Will mutters. "You said you had no ulterior motives for coming in." He should pull away, should break their embrace, but the trouble is, he has no desire to do so.

 

"I didn't have any," Frederick says, and there's a smirk at the edge of his mouth, winding up towards the lines of his scar, which adds a touch of devilishness to his expression. "At least, none I was planning on acting on."

 

"And now? Are you planning on acting on any of them?"

 

"I need consent before I attempt any therapeutic techniques," Frederick says, giving him a pointed look. "Ethical boundaries and all that."

 

"Since when do you care about ethics?" Will mutters.

 

"A man re-evaluates some things after almost dying."

 

"You almost died twice."

 

"Losing a kidney is different from getting shot in the head. Believe me, I'd be happy to explain the difference, but it would belabor the point."

 

"Fine," Will says, frustration bubbling up inside of him as he realizes  _I want this_. "You've got your consent doctor. I hope verbal will be good enough."

 

Frederick nods, with this look in his eye that Will can't place, and then he's surging forward, planting his lips against Will's.

 

Frederick kisses like a man starving for attention, which is very likely the case. Will grasps the sides of his head, holding Frederick in place while Will takes the lead himself. The kissing gets much enjoyable after that; Will slips his tongue into Frederick's mouth, enjoying the whimpering little gasp he makes and the way Frederick's nails dig deeper into his back. Will wonders who needs the comfort more right now, even as Frederick slides him up the bed and kisses down his neck, pushing Will's shirt up to his armpits and attacking Will's chest with relish. Will gasps as Frederick takes a nipple between his teeth and rolls it, sending tiny pleasant shock waves across his pectoral muscles. Now they're getting somewhere - he can feel the growing hardness of his prick, and with the way Frederick's leg is pressed between his thighs, so can the other man. Frederick makes this perfectly clear when he grinds down with the top of his thigh, and Will twitches and jolts, grabbing the sheets for support.

 

"You're quite the specimen, Will Graham," Frederick says, flicking the button on Will's jeans open and sliding the fabric down, freeing his erection. "Quite the specimen indeed." The man fucking _l_ _icks his lips_ when he gets a good look at Will, and Will has a fleeting thought about cannibalistic psychiatrists before Frederick is on him, sliding Will into his mouth and puffing his cheeks out like a squirrel. It would be damned funny if it didn't feel so good.

 

Frederick moves at a painfully slow pace, and Will grunts and props himself up on his elbows to get a good look. The way he's crouched, splayed across Will's legs as he bobs up and down on Will's cock, is almost cat-like in appearance. _Cats and dogs_ , Will thinks, knowing which side he himself falls on. _We shouldn't get along_. But then Frederick slides his tongue in just a certain way, and suddenly Will can't support his own weight anymore, falling back against the sheets and closing his eyes so he can focus on the sensation alone.

 

For some reason, Frederick really starts slowing down, and Will peeks an eye open to see the twinge of pain that rests in the corners of his cheeks. _The scar_ , Will thinks, realizing that the way Frederick's mouth has to stretch is agitating the injury. He reaches down, ignoring the noise of displeasure that Frederick makes as he pops off Will's cock. "What are you doing?" Frederick asks as Will pulls him up to lay next to him, stretched out across the length of the bed. "I was enjoying that."

 

"Your face told me otherwise," Will says. He rests a hand over the scar, and feels the tense vibrations of Frederick's desire to pull away from his touch. "This needs a little more time to heal. There are plenty of other things we can do." To demonstrate, he slides a hand down, palming Frederick through the fabric of his pants. Frederick whines softly, grabbing Will's shoulders and nudging his face into the crook of Will's neck. "Besides, I feel bad neglecting you."

 

"I was trying to be patient," Frederick says, nipping his teeth into the flesh of Will's shoulder. "I'm supposed to be the one treating you."

 

"Stop with the stupid therapy metaphor," Will says, tugging Frederick's head up for another kiss. "I don't want a doctor right now, I want a lover. Can you handle that?" Frederick nods, and Will slides the zipper down on the other man's pants, letting Frederick shimmy out of them, until they're both naked from the waist down.

 

"Shirts?" Frederick asks.

 

"Don't bother," Will says, wrapping a firm hand around Frederick's cock and pumping it. "I don't think we'll be at a place where it matters tonight."

 

Frederick goes for the kiss this time, doing a better, less frantic job than he had the first time. Will feels Frederick's hand find his cock, and his first stroke is smooth and supple, making Will almost bite straight through his bottom lip.

 

"You're quite receptive," Frederick mutters, kissing down his jawline.

 

"You've done this before," Will says. It's a statement, not a question, but Frederick nods anyway.

 

"Does that truly surprise you?" Frederick asks. "One wonders what you truly think of me."

 

"I tend to think of you as an ass, mostly," Will snarks, growling when Frederick slows his ministrations. "You're proving my point here, Dr. Chilton."

 

"Usually I don't jerk off people who insult me, Mr. Graham," Frederick replies, suddenly starting a rapid series of strokes that leaves Will panting and squirming against the mattress. "I suppose I can make an exception, however."

 

"We're both trying new things today," Will says, tightening his grip on Frederick's cock and enjoying the whimper he gets in response. "Teamwork should be our focus here."

 

After that, there isn't much talking, only the gasps and moans of two people whose immediate goal is to bring this to a mutually satisfying conclusion. Will realizes Frederick is going to come first, sees the tightness in his shoulders and the way a scream is about to claw its way out of Frederick's throat, and Will finds a bit of greedy competitive joy in that fact. However, he's not far behind the man, and as Frederick cries out and spasms, spilling himself against Will's stomach, Will feels the tightness in his groin narrow to a pin point, and then the orgasm is slamming into him, drawing a yell even louder than Frederick's out of his chest as the rush of adrenaline courses through his veins. His semen spurts a whirling trail out to splatter against Frederick's groin, and then it's over, as fast as it seemed to start.

 

"Get up a second," Will grumbles, stumbling to his feet and tearing the comforter off the bed, rolling it up into a ball and chucking it to the corner of the room. That'll be in the wash tomorrow morning as soon as he wakes up.

 

Will flops back down onto the bed, stretching out with a pleased expression and yawning loudly. When he opens his eyes, Frederick is still standing by the bedside, looking uncertain, as if he's not sure if he's being invited back onto the sheets.

 

"Would you come here already?" Will yawns again, reaching out for him. Frederick goes willingly then, and Will pulls him to lie flat beside him, facing each other across the expanse of the pillow under their heads.

 

"You're not breaking eye contact," Frederick notes. "At least, not as much as normal."

 

"I tend to be able to look at people pretty easily once I've slept with them," Will says, pressing a finger to his own mouth in the universal sign for quiet. "Shh, It's my dirty little secret, don't tell anyone."

 

Frederick smirks and looks at him with a fondness that Will didn't think the man was capable of. "Remind me to keep an eye on you the next time we have our little club meeting," he says. "If that's true, I'll be learning some interesting things about your love life."

 

Will laughs and shakes his head. "All you'll learn is that I've slept with none of those people. Now Brian and Jimmy, they're an easy read."

 

"Too obvious," Frederick says. "I figured that out months ago." He hides a yawn behind his hand, turning onto his stomach and letting his eyes flutter shut. "So am I allowed to stay the night or will you be escorting me from the premises?"

 

"Neither of us is leaving this bed tonight," Will says, fishing his boxers out of his jeans and tugging them back on. Frederick copies him, managing to pull his own briefs on while barely moving. It's a fascinating exercise in laziness.

 

"The dogs didn't bother us," Frederick says, frowning with his eyes closed, as if he suddenly realized this amazing fact.

 

"They know not to come in here," Will says. "They'll probably take over my bed for the night."

 

"You won't be lonely without them?"

 

"I spent six months in prison, every night without them. I can definitely handle them being in the next room."

 

Frederick seems to consider this, rubbing at his scar like it helps him think. "You never slept well there, you tossed and turned all night," he says, popping his eyes open when he realizes what he's said. "Ah, not that I was watching you _sleep_ or anything like that."

 

It should make Will angry, but all he ends up doing is chuckling and tugging Frederick against his side. "Well, now you get the privilege of watching me do just that."

 

"And tomorrow? What does any of this mean in the morning?"

 

"Tomorrow... is tomorrow." Will shrugs. "I'd like to figure out what it means then, if you don't mind. Much too tired to think right now."

 

Frederick nods against his chest. In the quiet that follows, Will starts to doze off, but then he hears: "Will?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I'm sorry about your dog."

 

Will nods. He knows that behind that apology are a thousand others that Frederick won't ever be able to say. Will thinks he'll be alright with that. Hannibal Lecter is in jail, and that part of his life is over. It might be nice to let the past go and start fresh. And this isn't too bad of a fresh start, for either of them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt for this fic came from awillsgrahamcracker on tumblr.
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so apologies if I've missed any grammatical errors or the prose is a bit loose.
> 
> This is also the first time I've written either Will or Chilton in a major way, so I hope their characterizations came out okay.
> 
> Title of the fic comes from the lyrics of "Collar Full" by Panic at the Disco.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at nighthawkms.tumblr.com


End file.
